


A Lullaby For The Sun

by Sjukdom



Series: A Bastard Angel [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sjukdom/pseuds/Sjukdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim looked at the real sun, nearly hidden behind the blanket of upcoming night. Maybe it also had its own kind of lullaby and was not so lonesome after all. But, most significantly, neither was Harvey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lullaby For The Sun

Another hard day at work left its traces on Harvey. Dust on his skin, coloring it the filthy shade of gray, turning him into a walking idol with little wrinkled cracklings in the corners of his eyes. Paleness in his irises, combined with red patterns in his whites, roots of tiny vampire trees, sucking blue living color into them.

Jim had experienced it all himself, remembered the heaviness in his head, brain absorbing so many things during work hours it seemed to weigh tons to the end of the day. Everything he wanted then was someone's caress to put this weight off him, off his poor head.

So now he was massaging Harvey’s temples and forehead lightly as he was lying in Jim's lap, the back of his head pressed to Jim’s chest, his body a bit too heavy and big, his breath smelling of beer a bit too much, but it was okay. Jim was squeezing Harvey's sides with his knees and it felt like he was cuddling with a giant toy bear. As if hearing his thoughts, Harvey made a low grumble, when Jim’s fingers touched the sensitive spot above his ear.

The sun was going down slowly, dawn as red as Harvey’s eyes, clouds as thick as the ones that filled his exhausted mind. The sun must be tired, too. And there was no-one to ease its weariness.

Looking at the dawn, at the slowly fading beams, Jim began to stroke Harvey’s hair involuntarily. Sunbeams turned from bright red into ash-gray as if the sun was getting older, its hair losing their natural colors. Harvey’s hair, though sweaty and smelling of cigarette smoke, felt nice to the touch, still thick and soft. Jim ran his fingers through them, turning their heavy mass into separated locks. He curled one of them around his finger and brushed it lightly. Harvey seemed to be asleep in his lap, breathing calmly and deeply.

Mindlessly Jim began to tie the lock into a tiny braid. Once he finished he started with another, awkwardly at first, but after few more ones his fingers were doing it almost professionally. The next braid looked nice and smooth, every hair in its place.

“What are you turning me into?” murmured Harvey without opening his eyes. Jim paused in mid-movement, Harvey’s hair as stubborn as Harvey himself uncurling free from his fingers.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it feels quite good, actually. Just don’t show me the mirror afterwards.”

Jim laughed softly into his hair. When he resumed the plaiting, he noticed that the braids he’d already tied were untwisting themselves slowly. Jim fixed them and went on plaiting new ones, trying to tie them a bit tighter, careful not to hurt Harvey. He felt his partner relaxing in his lap completely, tension leaving his muscles, arms resting on Jim’s knees. Suddenly Jim was sorry he couldn’t sing at all. A soft melody would lull tired Harvey into sleep at last. He couldn’t reach Harvey’s record player either and certainly didn’t want to leave him now.

After he tied three more braids, Jim started to think Harvey didn’t need an actual singing after all. The sounds that surrounded the sofa they were on were enough to make a music on their own. The soft whistling of their breathing, delicate vibrations of violin’s strings. Their heartbeat, the soft thumping of drums. The clanking of zippers on Jim’s leather jacket, the rhythm of tiny cymbals. The lullaby that didn’t touch ears, but was heard anyway.

Harvey sighed and shifted himself to get comfortable in Jim’s lap.

“I hope you’ll do something about this mess you made”, said Harvey, his voice barely audible over the veil of long-awaited sleep. “I don’t want to start tomorrow’s morning with a heart attack.” 

Jim just smiled and patted his head carefully, not willing to ruin his creation at once. Braids refused to exist in some kind of order and were sticking out in different directions, small, smaller and the smallest ones Jim managed to make from the hair on Harvey’s temples. Tiny beams radiating from the tired sun. 

Jim looked at the real sun, nearly hidden behind the blanket of upcoming night. Maybe it also had its own kind of lullaby and was not so lonesome after all. 

But, most significantly, neither was Harvey.


End file.
